We are Broken
by Jake Nickleby
Summary: Wilbur begins to have disturbing visions of each of his family members, and slowly starts to go insane. What can he do to stop these visions?
1. Billie

Disclaimer: All characters and events related to _Meet the Robinsons_ are owned by William Joyce and Walt Disney Animated Studios.

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Warning: This story contains mildly graphic description of death and physical harm to others. Please read cautiously if you are sensitive to this type of content.

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Currently looking for Cover Art commissions.

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Chapter One: Billie

Wilbur rushed through the front door, dropping his backpack on the marble floor and kicking off his black high top sneakers. He was so thrilled that the school day was finally over, and was more than ready to grab a bottle of root beer, kick his feet up on the sofa, and watch afternoon cartoons.

"Hey, Mom!" he called with a huge grin splitting across his face as he ran into the living room. He hoped that maybe his mother could make him some chicken ramen as well.

The thirteen-year-old surveyed the room, taking notice on how quiet and empty the house seemed to be. That's odd, the young teenager thought. Where is everybody?

"Hello?" he shouted, trying to get the attention of anybody that could be around. Surely, there had be somebody home. "Anybody here?" he yelled out, scanning his eyes across the area. Wilbur took a few steps forward. His attention was drawn to a spot on the floor that he could not see in his line of vision just a couple of feet back.

There, in the middle of the room, laid an unmoving body. Brown curls fell limply around a delicate, lightly-tanned face with a look of frozen shock and terror plastered on. Large brown eyes were open so wide, it seemed that the eyeballs would pop right out of the head. Tear streaks stained on the woman's cheeks. Wilbur's focus was then pulled down the her chest. Brick read stains of what looked like drying blood was absorbed onto the woman's white tee shirt and the turquoise bodice of her dress. Clean, straight rips - each one about three inches long- scattered on the bodice and shirt. Fresh blood poured from the splits. It was now clear to Wilbur that those tears were stab marks from possibly what could have been a kitchen knife.

The teenage boy stared down in shock and disbelief. His eyes were extremely wide open, and his lips parted ever so slightly, quivering subtly. That was is aunt. There was his Auntie Billie lying in the middle of the living room, obviously dead.

While staring into her wide, lifeless eyes, he heard her animated voice ringing distinctly in his ears, as if she really was there in front of him, alive and well, "Hey-ya, Wilbur!" He continued to stare, disbelieving.

"Wilbur!" The audio he was hearing did not match up with the visual he saw.

"Is there something the matter, Wilbur?" She was dead, right in front of him.

"Wilbur?" Then why could he hear her?

He shut his eyes for three or four moments, longer than an average, normal blink. He shook his head, and there was a flash in his mind, cleansing the image away. When he reopened his eyes, Billie was no longer lying on the floor, and instead he saw her charcoal grey, knee-high boots standing in the spot where she had laid. Tilting his head up, Wilbur's sight met up with Billie's, who stood right in front of him, watching him curiously.

"Whatever is the matter?" she asked, a hint of laughter in her voice.

"N-nothing," he managed as he began to walk out of the room, glancing at her in the corner of his eyes, and his hands now shoved into his pockets. As he left, he wrapped in his thoughts about what he had experienced. What had that been all about?

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End of Chapter One

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17 December 2007


	2. Lefty

For disclaimer on _Meet the Robinsons_, please refer to chapter one.

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Currently looking for Cover Art commissions.

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Chapter Two: Lefty

Wilbur strutted to the kitchen, pushing his worries to the back of his mind. What he saw was probably nothing serious. He probably just spent one too many times staying up past midnight every week, watching the "Friday Night Horror Movie Fest" on television, and it was just getting to his head. All that needed to be done was to cut back on viewing such morbid films on a regular basis, and he would not have anymore disturbing daydreams and nightmares.

Wilbur pulled down a small pot from a high cupboard, and set it on the stove. He filled the pot with tap water, and pressed the heat button on high. Staring impatiently at the tiny bubbles beginning to form, Wilbur wondered why instant ramen was not more instant than it was, especially in this day and age. He just could not wait to kick back on the couch for the next two hours and watch his favorite classic cartoons, which included _Speed Racer_, _Yu-Gi-Oh!_, and _Ben 10_, not to mention his ultimate favorite cartoon, _Captain Time Travel_.

The thirteen-year-old had lazily placed the block of hard, uncooked noodles into the simmering pot when he had gotten an eerie chill up his spine. Whipping his head over his shoulder, he looked around the empty, silent (aside from the bubbling pot of ramen) room. Turning his body, he took a few steps forward.

On the island counter, he noticed an elegantly-prepared plate of calamari. Wilbur stuck out his tongue. The sight of the display disgusted him. He hated calamari! His family never ate it, either. After all, their butler, Lefty was an octopus. So why was there a plate of that awful fried stuff?

Then he lifted his head to see a dull silver object, glinting from the sun that peeked through the blinds. A sticky substance covered the object. It must have been blood. Wilbur paled, staring at the blood-covered butcher knife sitting on the counter. Droplets of blood trailed from the knife, down off the counter and onto the floor. Though he was afraid of what the trail would lead him to, Wilbur could not tear himself away and his eyes followed it. The trail led him to a bright violet severed tentacle, freshly cut off.

Lefty.

Wilbur backed away, crashing into the stove, causing the pot to fall over onto the floor, along with hot, boiling water and the cooked noodles spilling all over. Panicked but unharmed, the young teen darted to the kitchen's exit. The door swung open, and Lefty tried to make his way into the room. The boy stared with wide eyes.

"Oh," Wilbur muttered as he glanced down at the mess on the kitchen floor. "I'm sorry, Lefty. I-I'll clean it up."

The purple butler moaned in protest, and so, without fighting the interjection of the insisting butler, Wilbur hastily made his way out of the kitchen. Taking a glance back at the counter and floor, the boy noticed it was clean and empty. No blood, no knife, no calamari. As the teenager turned and headed for the television, he reassured himself once again, "No more late night horror flicks."

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End of Chapter Two

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27 December 2007


	3. Carl & Buster

Disclaimer: Dialogue from _Speed Racer_ is owned by Tatsuo Yoshida and _Tatsunoko Productions._ For disclaimer on _Meet the Robinsons_, please see chapter one.

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Currently looking for Cover Art commissions.

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Chapter Three: Carl & Buster

"Hey look at that, boss!" Cruncher Bloch's henchman exclaimed from the television screen on an episode of _Speed Racer_.

"I know the scenery's gorgeous," Cruncher Bloch responded. "Who cares?"

"But I'm not looking at the scenery, I'm looking at the Mach Five."

"You're dreaming!"

"That's no dream, it's a nightmare."

Wilbur wrung his sweaty hands together in anticipation. Not because of the cartoon (even though he loved it, it was corny and predicitble), but because hearing the word "nightmare" reminded him of the two visions he had. He kept trying to push the thought to the back of his mind, but it still resurfaced in his mind every once in a while during the past hour or so, and it made him feel uncomfortable.

He shook his head, and laughed inwardly. Calamari? he thought. Isn't calamari squid, not octopus? He convinced himself it was. Really, calamari and octipus... That's just so ridiculous!

Reajusting himself on the couch, he sunk into a fluffy cushion and decided to finish relaxing with his break time.

Then, the television suddenly shut off. Blank, black screen. What the heck? Wilbur stood up. It wasn't just the television that turned off. He noticed other electronic devises, the lighting and such, were also off. He hurried off to the control room. Maybe there was something he could fix with the wiring.

He stood outside the door to the control room, and slowly swung it open. The hinges on the door creaked loudly as the light pouring into the room caused to cast his shadow on the floor of the darkened room. He grimaced at the awful sound of the old-fashioned door, but he knew that the door could not be replaced with a new-age, high-tech sliding door (because obviously there would be no way to get in if something like this, the power going out, happened). At least the hinges could be greased or replaced.

Fumbling for the flashlight that was stored away up on a shelf near the door, Wilbur grasped the heavy metal handle and clicked the button on the side several times before it flickered on correctly. Shining the beam of light ahead, he marched over to the control panel and stared intently over the hardware.

Hmm, he wondered, rubbing his chin as he looked over system more carefully for a second time. Nothing looked obviously suspicious. He inched forward, closer and closer. Until something bright and sudden flashed in his face. Reeling his head back to clear the hot sparks that nearly landed on his face, his heart pounded fiercely against his chest for a minute. Annoyed, he frowned as he lifted the portable light source to the affected area. _Not_ the welcoming surprise he had wanted.

Wilbur went to grab safety goggles and gloves on the same shelf where he had retrieved the flashlight, and slipped on the gear. Using the flashlight as his guide, he located the power switched, and using all of his might, pulled the trigger down. A low whirring sound was made, as the last bit of energy source was being powered down completely.

Leaning against the opposite wall, Wilbur waited as patiently as he could (which he did not have a high tolerance of) for a couple of minutes before he attempted to reboot the power. If this didn't work, then there was something else wrong with the electrical circuit, and Wilbur had to rethink his strategy to figure out what the problem could be.

He glanced over at the exit. Maybe he could go find Carl to consult. Turning his attention to the circuit breaker, he pushed the handle up. Waiting for something to happen- hearing a functioning noise or seeing an operational light- Wilbur stood dumfounded in dark, still silence. He huffed. Looks like he will have to go with Plan B after all.

Lifting the goggles onto his forehead, Wilbur started to make his way out, only to be stopped by some debris left on the floor that entangled his feet in. Growing a little more irritated as he kicked his legs around several times to shake off what he supposed were loose wires and tubes, with little success, he finally shined the light down to the floor to get a full view of the bothersome appliances.

Raising his leg up to line the light beam up with the toe of his sneaker, Wilbur caught a glimpse of a golden metallic hand clenching on his shoe. The hand connected with a foot-long coil that had broken wires coming out of the detached end. Letting out a huge terrified gasp, shook his foot harder as his light source trailed ahead to reveal more similar pieces to the bionic arm.

A couple of blue LED lights, resembling a pair of eyes, flickered in its last bit of life. Arms and legs were torn and thrown in random directions, and the main core of the contraption had a huge, gaping hole in the middle. The mechanicals inside looked severely damaged beyond repair, as sparks surfaced. Then it started to heave, like human lungs wheezing for air, and audible gasps emerged from the device's "lips".

It then registered to Wilbur what the machinery really was- a destructed robot. No, it wasn't a robot. It was Carl! The boy's brow furrowed as he tightened his grip on the flashlight's handle. He was truly upset by the sight. Reason was not the front of his focus. It didn't matter if the robot was just artificial intelligence, and could potentially be restored. That was his friend!

Wilbur stormed out of the control room, furious. How dare something like this happen to Carl! His eyes searched around the empty house, trying to look for the next family member he would spot to help him carry the bot to his father's lab. Flesh or bolts, he would not let a friend or relative suffer like this.

Scanning the room, Wilbur wondered why the Robinson residence was so still. With a house of fifteen or so beings, he would have come across _somebody_. Then he heard the wheels of one of Billie's train roll down its tracks. Billie! he thought, rounding the corner. To his bewilderment, he didn't find her. Plus, the train must have had already passed through the room, since he didn't really see or hear it anywhere. Maybe he just imagined it...

His eyes followed along the tracks until he saw beige fur matted down on the railway. Its fur stained with a sticky crimson substance and something that resembled raw ground beef leaked out in the middle of the whole mess. Hurrying over, Wilbur dropped down to his knees.

"MY DOG!" the teen despaired.

Before he could grieve much more, an electrical popping sound was made, and Wilbur reared his head around to hear the television turn back on.

_"Captain Time Travel will be back after these messages..."_ the announcer shouted from the idiot box.

"Hey, Wilbur!" yelled a voice from down the hall, causing the boy to flinch out of alarm. Turning his head, he saw Carl saunter casually through the room. "When he gets home, will you let your dad know that the power shut down earlier today? Thanks, buddy!"

Carl's okay, Wilbur theorized. Then that means, Buster...

Looking back down at his imaginary slain pet, Wilbur jolted from disheartenment. He found his fingers entangled through the bloodied fur as he tried to coax the dog out of the hallucination. After a couple of anguishing minutes, he heard bark come from the backyard. He couldn't help when a relieved smile broke out on his face. Using his knee for support, the boy pushed himself up, and ran out to the backyard.

Once he reached the door, Wilbur lifted his hand up to slide it open. He froze and smile washed away instantly when he took notice of his hand pressed against the door. Lifting his hand up, he saw a bloodied handprint against the wall. Turning his palm over, he observed the smeared fluid that coated himself. Glancing down at his jeans, he saw the dark blotch on the soaked material.

Oh, please, he pleaded in his mind as he looked over his shoulder. Sighing a breath of relief when he noticed the slaughtered Buster was gone. Just like the last three visions, it wasn't real. Wilbur faced forward again, with worry filling right back into him as he saw the bloodstained wall. If his dying pooch wasn't real, shouldn't the blood be gone, too?

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End of Chapter Three

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Author's Note: If any of you read my other _Meet the Robinsons _stories, _21st Century Kid_ or _If I Never Married You_ (read and review, please and thank you!), then you probably heard that the cause of my four-year hiatus was from school. While I am on my summer break, I decided to take the time to continue my fanfiction as celebration on getting the heck out of this school (since I started working on these during my first two years of college, and now it is my last at this school).

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29 August 2011


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